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Jensen: Security increases when U.S. quits making enemies

Jensen: Security increases when U.S. quits making enemies

In the frenzy over Edward Snowden’s leak of classified information about government data-mining surveillance, public officials and pundits have tried to lock us into a narrowly defined and diversionary discussion that ignores important questions about terrorism.

Their argument goes something like this: No one wants to die in a terrorist attack. This spying is necessary to prevent terrorist attacks. So, stop whining about how information is being collected, used, and potentially misused — it’s better than dying.

I do not want to die in a terrorist attack. But before I am bullied into accepting intrusive government surveillance that is open to politicized abuse, I have another question: Are there other ways to reduce the risk of being targeted by terrorists? Two obvious possibilities come to mind.

First, stop creating new terrorists. We critics of the U.S. invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq have argued that those destructive conflicts have deepened resentment against the United States. People who previously had no reason to attack U.S. military personnel or civilians are understandably unhappy with invasions that destroy their homes and kill their people.

In the new book and film “Dirty Wars,” reporter Jeremy Scahill and director Rick Rowley have documented how the U.S. Joint Special Operations Command — our so-called secret warriors — have indeed been killing terrorists, along with pregnant women, children, and lots of other non-combatants. Much of the criticism has focused on the use of drones, not only in Afghanistan but also “secretly” in Pakistan, but Scahill and Rowley show how the whole strategy is misguided.

Second, let’s recognize that it is unlikely that the terrorism of Al-Qaida and others would have emerged if not for nearly seven decades of a failed U.S. policy in the Middle East, Central Asia, and the Muslim world. Since the United States filled the imperial void left by Great Britain and France after World War II, our Middle East policy has aimed primarily at maintaining a flow of oil and — just as important — a flow of oil profits that is advantageous to U.S. economic interests, especially as defined by elites.

That doesn’t mean that every single U.S. action has been evil, or that there has been a single clear policy in every moment. But we have routinely ignored the aspirations of the people of the Middle East in favor of “stability” for the interests of those elites. Saddam Hussein was an ally or a monster depending not on crimes he committed against his own people or threats he posed to other states, but on whether he was in step with U.S. policy. When he killed Iraqi Kurds (about whom U.S. policymakers didn’t care much) and Iranians (an official U.S. enemy), that was OK. When he threatened Saudi Arabia (an official U.S. ally, despite that country’s history of human right abuses), we had to destroy him.

Americans may not notice these inconsistencies, but people around the world pay attention. I may disagree with the politics and theology of many of those who critique U.S. policy, but I can’t argue when they point out U.S. mendacity and hypocrisy.

Imagine that the United States had pursued a different policy in the last half of the 20th century, aiding the struggling movements in the Arab and Muslim world that wanted to expand the scope and freedom and democracy. If we had chosen that path, would we be the targets of terrorists today?

More than a decade after 9/11, the United States political culture still is asking the wrong question (“why do they hate us,” as if our opponents are fueled only by irrational anger) and coming up with the wrong answer (“because we stand for freedom,” as if that has actually been our policy). It’s time for us to grow up, buck up, and face reality. If we want to be safe, we should end the economic, diplomatic, and military policies that give people around the world reasons to resent our misuse of power.

When we have done that — when we have narrowed the gap between our self-righteous proclamations of inherent benevolence and the self-serving policies that ignore the aspirations of others — I’ll be happy to talk about how much of my privacy and political freedom I am willing to sacrifice to be safe. But if we were to face our mistakes and change our policies, I’m not sure that conversation will be necessary.

Jensen is a professor in the School of Journalism at the University of Texas at Austin and the author of Arguing for Our Lives: A User’s Guide to Constructive Dialogue